


The Better To Bite You With, My Dear

by petvampire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:59:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petvampire/pseuds/petvampire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Isaac is wearing his lacrosse hoodie, and Jackson decides to play big bad wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Better To Bite You With, My Dear

Isaac didn’t know whether to consider it lucky or unlucky; their team’s color was red, they’d ordered sweatshirts, and he was wandering around in a bright red hoodie with ‘Beacon Hills Lacrosse’ emblazoned on the back. Under normal circumstances, that would have been nothing new, nothing notable. But circumstances were not, nor had they ever been for him, anything close to normal.

Especially not when Jackson Whittemore was involved.

They had spent more time in each other’s company since the other had finally turned from deadly lizard-monster into an actual member of the pack (and after he had been convinced to actually _accept_ the pack, instead of trying to go it on his own). Isaac couldn’t say he’d ever been overly fond of Jackson, given that he was a cocky, self-involved asshole who had made Isaac’s life pretty difficult with that whole suggesting-him-as-a-murder-suspect thing, but being in close quarters so often built at least something of a rapport between the two of them. Besides, they were teammates, and Jackson… well, he _had_ eliminated one of the major forces keeping Isaac down in life.

Not that he’d known what he was doing at the time. Still, Isaac felt he owed him a little for that. Enough to give him a chance to prove he wasn’t a _complete_ douchebag.

So they’d bonded, after a fashion, connected over werewolf stuff, lacrosse, the whole nine yards. Isaac had actually fallen into something like comfort with the other, and they’d managed to be – well, maybe friends was too strong of a word, but not enemies. Acquaintances who didn’t hate each other and got along fairly decently. Something along those lines.

And then they’d gotten drunk together.

Isaac still vividly remembered confessing in a moment of whiskey-induced boldness that he’d always thought Jackson was attractive; he remembered the other giving him a smirk, inviting, and he remembered clambering onto his lap and kissing him, licking the taste of liquor from his mouth. He remembered sucking Jackson off in the backseat of his Porsche, remembered the other laughing at him for coming in his jeans like an over-eager virgin.

He remembered it all, but it hadn’t happened again. Hell, they hadn’t even mentioned it. Isaac had let it go, assuming that Jackson had either forgotten, or had no interest in bringing it up again. He was disappointed, but what could he do? Jackson was a jackass who did what he wanted. It wasn’t like Isaac was interested in making a big scene, making it some big emotional _thing_ instead of the very drunk, very hormone-driven encounter it had actually been.

He didn’t expect anything.

Which was why he was surprised when Jackson cornered him in the locker room after practice, smelling of sweat and earth and _want_ , backing him up against the wall with _that look_ in his eyes, the irises drowning in bright wolfish blue.

“You look good in red,” he growled against Isaac’s neck, leaving harsh nips, bright marks that would fade quickly but that he wished would last. Isaac laughed, tilting his head back against the cool metal of the lockers. “What are you, the big bad wolf? My, what big teeth you have,” he shot back, taunting, one hand curling in the front of Jackson’s jersey, the other sliding up under the fabric in back, palm pressing warm against his spine.

Jackson’s response was to turn his head, nudging aside the fabric of hoodie and tee shirt, and bite down, hard, on the curve between Isaac’s neck and shoulder. A low sound escaped the brunette’s lips as he felt the sharp points of fangs break the skin, felt the blood rushing from his head as a perfect imprint of teeth was left behind, solid and just so slightly bloodied. He could smell the copper in the air, could taste the trace of it on Jackson’s tongue when the other drew back up to kiss him, hard, more a fight than anything remotely romantic.

The other seemed intent on making sure Isaac got his this time; the red hoodie ended up on the floor, in a tangle of both their shirts, jerseys, shorts, boxers. Jackson pushed him towards the showers, and Isaac went willingly, attached to the other by mouth and hands, touching, kissing, biting at every bit of skin he could reach.

They ended up pressed against the wall, the tile cold on Isaac’s back and the water burning in the bite mark on his shoulder, the sharp sensational contrast _nothing_ next to the feel of Jackson wrapping a hand around both of their cocks and bucking up against him, friction driving Isaac out of his mind with need. When he came he stifled his sounds into Jackson’s neck, and the other left another mark on him when he did the same, another bloody imprint where his teeth had dug into pale skin.

They _actually_ showered, dressed, in silence, though Isaac bit back words when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the bite marks on his throat looking halfway between a mauling and a set of extremely intense hickeys. One of them showed above the edge of his collar, not healing quite yet, and Isaac found himself surprised once again as Jackson reached out to run fingertips possessively over it, tracing the mark in its entirety before pulling the edge of the hoodie up to cover it.

He tugged lightly at the fabric before he pulled away, giving Isaac _that smirk_ again. “Wear this more often,” was all he said, and then he was gone, sauntering off as usual, leaving the beta baffled and bemused.

Lucky or unlucky, he knew he’d be wearing the sweatshirt tomorrow. And the next day. And as long as it took to bring the other wolf’s attention back to him again.


End file.
